Sherrill: Light in my Darkness

[Crackles54]

Dear Friends and Family,

 

As you know, we're having good days and bad days.  As more and more time passes it impacts us all more starkly that we can't just call Sherrill up today, or stop in. She won't be standing at our front door with her latest "pet" to show us. I'm so grateful that Bob has left her lighthearted voice on their answering machine message. I'm grateful we all want to keep her picture collages on the walls.  I'm grateful we saw fit to keep all the cute little doodads she made for us over the years.

 

I've been pretty weepy this week. It's rained a lot these last several days. The rain has always felt like Mother Mary's tears to me, and sometimes I get swept up in it. Today was sometimes a hard day, because tomorrow is Sherrill's birthday.

 

But I've said before many times to many friends, in my notes and in person, I know she does not want us to remain in our sadness. Sherrill is, as we all know full well, in a place where there is no more suffering and no more pain. She is reunited with Grandpa Ed, Grandma Slike and many more loved ones, and she is very very happy.

 

But it is more than this spiritually grounded knowledge. The fact is, she has been sending and continues to send signs. She speaks to me in a couple of ways. It started right after we laid her to rest. One thing she's done for us is keep all these plants alive that we brought home from the funeral home.  It's pretty common knowledge that I have a "black thumb."  I couldn't even keep a spider plant alive. But these plants, in our house, in the church, in my office, are thriving, and the only explanation we have is that Sherrill's making sure they do well. She always did love puttering around in the flowers and the greenery. She loved green, she wore green, her birthstone was green. She used green creatively and beautifully in her sweet little home. And here and now, every plant we kept in her memory remains gloriously, lusciously green.

 

When you lose a child and you feel lost yourself, it is sometimes very difficult to know what God wants you to do, what direction God wants you to take. I was in that place of uncertainty, and I still am at times. It is hard to know whether I should back off from all the work that I do, or stay the course I was on, or maybe do something else.

 

But then Sherrill helps bring it all into clarity. As you all know, she was almost an abortion victim all those years ago, and through the grace of God, she was born healthy and lively, and instantly became the joy of my life.

 

And now from her new life, she is speaking to me right there in my office, my pro-life office, speaking silently through the lighting in our "upper room."  Allow me to tell my stories and explain.

 

My first experience with this was only a few evenings after the funeral, back in January. I was in the room above the library, sitting at the table,  writing in my journal about our past several days' experiences as a family. There was a lot to say and reflect upon. A few feet away, I had positioned some framed photos of Sherrill around my little prayer corner, where I have a small table, a kneeler, and some religious objects and booklets.  I was glancing over at my photos of Sherrill occasionally as I wrote about her:  the sparkle in her eyes, the sparkle in her smile, the sparkle we were able to restore to her wedding ring, the sparkle in her laughter, even the sparkle in the earrings she wore everywhere. I had given her those gold sparkly hoops years ago. She was wearing them in our favorite picture of her, and in fact, we had those very same earrings laid to rest with her.

 

But writing in my journal, I had been immersed in my thoughts and lost track of time. Jesus led my eyes to the clock on the wall. Oh my gosh, I thought to myself, it's 6:30. Justin's finished with basketball practice! I have to go get him.  First I needed to rush downstairs, lock up and get my other son John off the computer and shut all that down, too.

 

So I got up from the table and ran over to the stairs, blew my daughter's picture a kiss across the room, told her I loved her and apologized that I had to rush out of there so abruptly. I went to turn off the light, and for some reason it stayed on. I flipped it back up, it still stayed on. Great, I thought, just what I need, an electrical problem here in our office. I played with the switch several times, and finally I was able to slowly lower the switch and coax the light to turn off.

 

I ran downstairs, turned off those lights, locked up, and went over to the main office. After alerting John that we had to fly out of there, he shut down the computer and went to the car. I began turning off three lamps in succession, the one by the window, the one over my east desk, and finally, the one near the door. But the one near the door would not turn off. This was a brand new lamp.  Click, click, click: no darkness, just light. 

 

Two lights, same thing?  Now I understood. Sherrill was letting me know she is happy, sparkling with joy and mischief, letting me know she is near, and happy.

 

I was so pleased I could sense her joyful presence so clearly.

 

After I picked Justin up, I called my husband on the cell phone while we traveled back home. Joe listened quietly to my story, and finally he said, "Well that's all very interesting, because this morning, I could not get my headlights to turn ON."

 

He had done exactly what I had done, in reverse: tried to get the lights to come on, flipping the dashboard switch several times, up and down, up and down, up and down, until finally, he had lights. After that everything was fine. No explanation for it.

 

Since this all happened the same day, we felt comfortable that Sherrill was communicating to both of us she is happy, and we need to try to be happy too. Yes, Sherrill, we will try. For you.

 

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As I mentioned earlier, this has been a weepy week for me. It's been raining a lot, I'm still opening cards from people who are letting me know they're praying for me, and we've been involved the past couple weeks in planning the design of the gravestone. Of course it's deep green, and it will be magnificent when it's finished.

 

Tonight I had to drive into Mentor to get Justin again, who was returning late from an out-of-town field trip. First I wanted to drop off some office supplies at our office.

 

I was surprised to see from the parking area that the light was on upstairs, shining through our north window. Not a big deal, I thought; it could have been left on by one of the volunteers earlier today. So I unlocked the library, stepped inside, slowly ascended the steps, and when I reached the "upper room" I looked around. Nothing was out of place or out of kilter, so I began to go back downstairs, flipping the light switch as I passed. It did not turn off.  I played with it, over and over again, and it simply would not turn off. I looked over at my pictures of Sherrill and realized she was beckoning me back over there to my prayer corner.

 

So I walked back, and started talking through my tears to her pictures. "I love you Honey. And I know you do not want me to be sad, but I can't help it. I love you and I miss you. I'm going to be sad for a very long time. I love you, and I will always love you. You are always, always going to be the light of my life."

 

I stood there quietly a few more moments, then returned to the stairs. When I turned off the light, the room went dark. Sherrill's voice came inside my heart. "I love you Mom."

 

I'm being told lately by a number of caring people that I have to allow myself to grieve. I think I'm doing it, but it's really hard work. There is no right way to grieve, either.  I know in my case, if I start crying, my mind starts to wander to a lot of sad experiences and it can have a really bad avalanche effect if I'm not careful.

 

So I'm trying not to let it immobilize me. Life is too short and we have so much to do.  I can carry out some of my tasks at home, plunge into my Right to Life work, continue to serve my church, and I can stop and smell the country air, take pictures of rainbows, talk silly with my kids and grandkids, or pull off the road to watch raccoons rummaging through a trashcan. The only practice that seems to work for me is to live, love and work through the tears. 

 

So, dear friends and family, I ask all of you to pray for me, to pray for all of us. And if the sadness takes too much control, remind me, remind us of the sparkle of mischief and joy in our Sherrill, would you please? Just a little tiny reminder is all we will need. Thanks. And thanks for listening and for caring so much for us. God bless you all.

 

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[grandmomma5]

May. 2, 2009 at 8:34 PM

God bless you and your family my dear!  My prayers are always with you.

[ISAIAHMOM632007]

May. 5, 2009 at 12:20 PM

God Bless and hugs

[LibbyLife]

May. 7, 2009 at 8:24 PM

You & your family remain in my prayers Dawn.  Thank you for sharing your experiences.  I had some feelings that my mom was around and communicating with me after her sudden death 5 1/2 years ago.  I had so much sadness in me.  Finally she appeared to me in a dream to show me how happy she is now in heaven.  That was a great comfort to me and a real turning point for me in my (long) grieving process.  ((HUGS))